


Unfinished Business

by AbAbsurdo



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Bittersweet, Comfort/Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27012433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbAbsurdo/pseuds/AbAbsurdo
Summary: Downton Abbey is a mystery for Richard Ellis who wants to solve it. Falling in love was not in his plans either.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 53
Kudos: 69





	1. Because they stay the same

Richard was alone in the room shown to him by the Downton Abbey butler. The room was spartan, as he was used to during the King’s tour. He removed his jacket and untied his tie. He was hanging his suit jacket when he felt it. 

  
A presence, the feeling of someone passing by him and just the air moving around and towards him. Curiosity. That’s what he perceived. He was always attuned to other people’s emotions. He had taken it from his grandmother. He turned around but there was no one to be seen. Not that he expected anyone. He was alone in the room. The non-event cemented his idea about the otherworldliness of the old estate.

  
Shaking his head to the absurdity of his thoughts, he strode to the window and glanced outside, in the dark horizon, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. This life on the road was tiresome. He was feeling it to his bones. Being in this place, where everyone seemed friendly and familiar to their colleagues, reminded him one again how lonely he was in London. He’s still so young and leaving service -his kind of service- was not recommended. By anyone.

  
But he’s so tired. Anywhere else, he might have gotten the chance to find someone to share his life, a childhood dream of his. He scoffs at his own sentimental thoughts. It would never happen, and he was far happier and financially safe than many of his peers.

  
Here it was again. A caress against his cheekbone, someone touching his jaw gently. He reaches up and places his palm on the same spot he felt the touch. 

  
_He was losing his bloody mind._

  
He needed to find Mr. Carson, he thought.

  
And do what?

  
Ask to change rooms? Justified how? Because he felt a presence in the room. He sounded delusional even to himself. 

  
Even the ghost mocked him, a new touch on his shoulder and his nape, gentle, a lover’s touch that made him shiver against the night chill. Warmth embraced him. A metallic smell attacks his senses alongside smoke and soap. It was an oddly comforting smell. Friendly, in a way the first touch wasn’t. 

  
“Hello?” he whispered, afraid he would get a reply. Afraid he wouldn’t.

  
He listened to an echo, an echo of something, maybe a greeting similar to his, maybe a cry for help. Possibly just the night playing games with his nerves. 

  
_He was not a maiden in the throes of panic afraid of his own shadow._

And suddenly the presence was gone, and he knew he was alone in the room just as he knew he wasn’t before. No warmth any more to embrace him, not peculiar smell, no touching. He gazed down from the window only to see a tall, dark figure walking slowly away from the Abbey. 

* * *

Richard couldn't get any rest that night. He lay down on the bed for long hours, his eyes closed, happy thoughts brought forth on the surface of his mind. He felt content to fall into and just rest, only to have his eyes wide open, heart pounding up his throat and the eerie feeling of someone being in the room and watching him sleeping.

"Who's there?" His voice was too loud in the quietness of the hour.

If he expected an answer, he didn't know.

He didn't get it.

He threw the covers off him and stood. He fumbled in the bed side table to find the lighter and the candle and cursed the old house for not having electricity in the attic. He hissed when melted candle fell on his hand. The light illuminating the room was low, but he could clearly see there was no one else in the room but himself. He reconsidered his panic take from earlier.

The rational part of his mind mocked his fear. 

The part that still remembered his granny's old tales about haunted houses and spirits unable to be put to rest had quietened down without leaving the premises. 

Richard stood and paced around the room. As quickly as he was coming and going from the old estates, he never bothered taking his clothes off his valise. He had a habit of removing only those that he'd planned on wearing, and those who were in need of a wash. He hadn’t used any of the drawers or closet in the room. He set the candle on the bedside table and opened the drawer. 

He moved to the second. Something was in there, in the back corner on the left. He took it gently. Beige, fine leather. He turned it in his hands and brought it to his nose. Smoke. Richard shivered. It seemed to have been created specifically for someone's hand and Richard didn't believe it was voluntarily left or forgotten in the drawer. His hand went back to the drawer checking its surface for anything else left there to come back with a small fob watch. Silver. Elegant. Well taken care of. With the initials TB carved on it. 

Now Richard was certain these weren't left behind. Unless their owner had left in a hurry in the middle of the night.

Somehow, Richard thought that wasn't the case. He left the watch in the same place he found it and set the glove on top of the bedside table. He then lay on the bed. He fell asleep thinking about them. 

No dreams or strange presences interrupted his sleep.

* * *

  
Richard was one of the last people to get to the table for breakfast. The Abbey's staff were already been put aside by his own colleagues and even though he had seen the same happening many times before, it was never enjoyable. The people here were friendly. He sat down with a smile and a greeting. 

"Good morning, Mr. Ellis," Mr. Carson said first to be followed by the Lord's valet. 

"Did you have a nice sleep?"

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I had indeed, Mr. Bates," many things could be said about Richard Ellis, half of them were truth, and he certainly had been forced to raise lying into an art form. 

He ate his toast slowly listening to the conversation around him. His own colleagues hadn't come down for breakfast, but he wouldn't miss it for anything. He reached inside his pocket and took the glove bringing it out.

"I think someone has forgotten this in my room," he said casually. 

The Butler looked at it awkwardly. "Where did you find it, Mr. Ellis?"

At the same time as the undercook asked Mr. Carson, "What room did you give him?"

The calmness of the group had suddenly disappeared. Even so, Richard couldn't regret his question. He wanted to learn to whom the glove belonged. He gazed around gauging reactions. The housekeeper was uncomfortable as was Mrs. and Mr. Bates, the undercook -Daisy wasn't it?- was anxious and the Lady's maid’s eyes were watery and sad. 

Richard’s stomach clenched at the prospect of depressing information intertwined with guilt at spoiling their breakfast the latter influencing his emotion less than the first. 

“I thought he was wearing it in the funeral.” Mr. Bates interrupted the unwanted silence. 

“It’s Thomas’,” the undercook said moments later. “The glove. It belonged to Thomas. He used to work here.”

“Daisy, please…” Mr. Carson seemed to be at a loss over what to say. 

By now Richard was certain he had to apologise and change the subject of their conversation. He was too curious to let it rest. 

“I gave Mr. Ellis Thomas’ old room,” Mr. Carson explained, as if they hadn’t already understood it. Richard watched as Andy stepped behind Daisy and rested his hand on her shoulder. “As Daisy said, Thomas used to work here.”

“This seems important to have it forgotten to his old job,” Richard cajoled, already knowing his words were wrong. 

“Thomas didn’t forget it, Mr. Ellis,” Mr. Bates cut in. 

Ms. Baxter pushed her chair back and stood. “Excuse me.” She left the hall in long strides that didn’t fit her small frame. Even the knowledge the memories he had awaken were sad didn’t quell Richard’s thirst to learn more about this man. He was not prone in gossiping and he generally didn’t mind about other people’s life. 

The moment he stepped foot on the Abbey he just knew it hid something and this glove was his only hint to uncover the mystery. If he could only find Thomas. His mind went to the fob watch and the initials. The watch belonged to the elusive man as well. 

“Thomas is dead, Mr. Ellis,” Mr. Carson said and followed Ms. Baxter’s path to the exit. 

He tried to change his expression to look chastised. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Not your fault, Mr. Ellis,” the cook who replied to him, was standing by the entrance. “Stop staring him down as if he killed his Lordship’s dog,” she added.

Soon he was sitting alone in the servants’ table, one hand in his pocket holding the glove. “Don’t keep asking about Thomas, Mr. Ellis. It’s not a happy story.” 

“Mrs. Patmore, Mr. Carson wants to have a word with you,” Daisy called from the door and Richard returned to his own duties before he had his day off to visit his parents.

The mystery of the glove, the watch and Thomas would have to remain unsolved.

* * *

Richard left his home late in the evening, but he had no will or need to return to the Abbey. He found himself strolling inside a pub and ordered a beer. Soon, someone sat next to him on the stool, setting his hat on the bench. He took a sip from his beer, bitter and low quality, and turned to see the man on his left. 

Pale skin and dark hair, a strong profile and a distinguished nose were the first things he noticed as the man stared straight ahead. A cigarette between long, thick fingers. Suddenly, he turned towards Richard, looking over his shoulder right through Richard, as if he were waiting for someone. Richard saw sad eyes and dark circles beneath them. 

Richard stared and the other man’s eyes met his in a cool manner. “Hello,” he greeted him startling Richard. He didn’t expect the other man to talk to him. 

“Hello.”

“You are not from around here, are you?”

“Actually, I am from around here. I’m Richard Ellis,” he raised his hand expecting a shake. The man looked at it and gripped it tightly for a few seconds. “And how about yourself?”

“Originally from Manchester. I lived around here for many years. You may say I have become local,” his eyes travelled down to his cigarette hiding a smile. Richard saw the gentle lines around his eyes, the dimple on his right cheek. “What brings you here?”

“Work, Mr…? It was only polite for the other man to tell him his name. 

Intense stare returned to him. “Barrow.”

“Mr. Barrow. I currently live in the Downton Abbey.”

“Are you a guest of his Lordship?”

“Hardly,” Richard snorted. 

“Nothing wrong, if you are,” a mischievous gaze was thrown his way. “Far better if you are not.”

“I am not. Anything to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“My treat.”

“Thank you. I don’t drink these days. Never drank,” Richard thought he heard wistfulness in the simple words.

“Do you know many of Lord Grantham’s guests?”

“At some point. I did. It isn’t as exciting as many think. If you’re not a guest, then you work for a guest and you know what I mean.”

Richard nodded. He pulled a card from his pocket and left it on the bench in front of Barrow. 

“The Royal Household. Colour me impressed,” he said, looking anything but impressed. 

Richard laughed. “You don’t seem impressed.”

“Don’t take it personally, Mr. Ellis, few things, if any, Impress me these days.” Richard felt the other man was staring in his soul through his eyes. Was it true? That the eyes were a mirror to a man’s soul? Returning the gaze, he’d guess Barrow’s soul was tormented. 

“Are you married, Mr. Barrow?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“I’d peg you married, with a wife at home and two children, one boy and one girl waiting for you to return to them.”

“Really?”

“No!” 

The heaviness he felt the moment he entered the Abbey lifted from his shoulders. He could breathe freely again.

“And you are the King’s valet? Travelling with him in the tour must be exciting and boring at the same time,” Barrow speculated. “Do you enjoy your job?”

“Of course. I doubt I could find a better job.”

“I didn’t ask that, did I? The job is alright, but do you enjoy it?” He intoned each word with a meaning. Richard realised he was asking something else entirely.

“I was never interested in having a family or a wife,” he replied carefully. “It didn’t crash my dreams for the future, if that’s what you’re asking?”

“Hm… yes. Kind of. Family comes in many forms, no? It doesn’t mean a wife and kids. It means honesty, companionship, security,” the long fingers tapped the wood of the bench. “Never had those myself.” No more a cool stranger, more of a vulnerable friend and Richard wanted to lean over and cup the hand. 

“You are an honest man, Mr. Barrow.”

The laughter was self-deprecating. Richard didn’t like Barrow’s expression. “I appreciate your compliment. Not many would agree with you.”

Barrow’s gaze settled on a man leaning against the other side of the bench. Richard watched him standing up. “I have to leave.”

“Isn’t it early?” Richard didn’t want the night to end like this. Without Barrow.

“I’m going to turn into a pumpkin if I stay longer.”

“It’s only eleven past eleven… not midnight yet.”

“Midnight is for maidens, Mr. Ellis, I’m not a maiden. For old men the magic ends earlier.”

“For handsome men the night just begins, Mr. Barrow.”

“Then it’s going to be an interesting night for you, Mr. Ellis.” Thomas stepped right behind him and Richard felt a light touch on his skin, between his suit jacket collar and his hair. The back of Barrow’s fingers caressed him. The touch sent shivers down his spine, but it ended as fast as it begun. Barrow leaned down, his mouth next to his ear. “Good night, Mr. Ellis.”

And he was gone taking Richard’s levity with him. The man Barrow had stared earlier, leaning over the bar was eyeing him. He nodded towards the door even as he came closer to Richard.  
“I'm going on to Turton's in a minute. Do you know it? I'm Chris Webster, by the way.”

“So?”

“You’re left alone. Why don’t you come with me? You know you want to.”

Barrow had left him alone. He didn’t want to return back to the Abbey any more than he had before he met the other man.   
Richard stared at Chris. “I’m Richard Ellis. Lead the way.” 


	2. The smell of incense On our hands

Richard followed Chris’ –already on first names basis- lead to a closed door. The conversation between them was easy enough with Chris being as open as he could be, not exactly shocking Richard but admiring his honest attitude in a place so small in comparison to London. At the same time, Richard missed Barrow and his ambiguous banter.

They approached a closed door and Chris knocked in a rhythmic pattern. Richard smirked recognising its meaning. He entered a seemingly warehouse to see a bar, or even better a club where people like him could have a good time with each other. It was not the first time he’d been in one, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but he was elated to see he could find such a place in his hometown. 

He heard another patron talking about him. “Looks like we’ve got some new blood here. Hello.”

“Hardly new blood,” a hand on his shoulder and a new voice. “If it isn’t Richard Ellis himself!”

Richard turned to see an old friend with him he had lost contact since the war. He embraced him, and between learning Bob’s news about his life and getting to know Chris and his friends, time passed quickly.

Much time and many drinks later, Chris leaned to him. “Come dance with me.” He took Richard’s hand and led him through the club. 

He wrapped an arm around Chris’ waist and a hand on his shoulder. He lost his balance a couple of times with Chris keeping him steady on his feet. With a pang he was reminded he couldn’t often have this entertainment in London with his profession and long hours. He had lost many friends along the way and found none to replace them. 

“Hey! No sad thoughts tonight,” Chris stage-whispered by his ear when music was replaced with silence and a tall, burly man Richard’s hadn’t seen before entered the stage.

“We’ve been told! Police are on their way. Someone has informed us. Hurry up and gather your coats and leave quietly. Stay safe!”

Chris showed Richard the hidden exit and pushed him that way with a quick peck on the lips. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. Some other time perhaps!” 

Richard ran outside the bar, slowed down to see if he was being followed and when he saw no one was behind him, he walked with long, quick strides towards his car. The walk and chilly night air cleared his thoughts and mind from the alcohol. 

Approaching the car, he thought what a strange adventure this trip had been so far. He slowed down when he noticed a dark figure, strangely familiar, leaning against Lord Grantham’s car. Anxiety disappeared when he came close and saw the man clearly.

He raised his jaw and smiled. “I thought old men went to bed early.”

“Who said anything about beds, Mr. Ellis?”

“I believe you did, Mr. Barrow.”

“I believe you are mistaken. A friend was in trouble and had to find new transportation for home when I remembered you.”

“A friend in trouble?”

“A friend who needs to be more careful. Circumspect I have it on good authority the correct adjective is.”

“Oh you do, don’t you? Maybe you shouldn’t have deserted him among strangers.”

“I thought he was cleverer than that and could protect himself. Not getting caught by the police in a… shall we say den of ill refute,” a soft smile formed in the plum lips and his eyes that moment held a faraway quality as if he was visiting a happy memory. 

“Was it you who informed the people in the club about the police invasion?”

Barrow leaned close, his aura mingling with Richard’s. “No, it was something about fairies and moonbeams.” He took a step back and looked up at the dark sky. “Or it should have been. If things hadn’t gone awfully wrong,” he added, and Richard wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or to himself. “But I do need transportation home, and I recognized Lord Grantham’s car so I waited for you here.”

Richard wanted to ask more of him, how did he know where he was, how did he know about the police, had he followed him? Barrow brought his gloved finger on his own mouth. “Shhhh… don’t over think it,” he eyes where locked on Richard’s.

Why wasn’t he intimidated Barrow’s behaviour? The other man seemed frail and tired. Richard had no doubt he could win in a fight, while he was certain no fight would occur between them.

Instead he turned to him. “Can you drive?” Richard dangled the car key in front of his face.

“I would prefer not to. For your safety rather than mine.”

Alcohol out of his system, Richard took his place behind the wheel. “I can’t imagine what could have happened had I been arrested.”

“Why not? You’d show them your fancy card and say it was all a joke and be left out in the peacefulness of the night. The Royal Household part would have been the trick, me thinks.”

Richard drove in silence and Barrow wasn’t willing to break it, as it was. Richard, turning to stare at his passenger, he tapped his fingers on the wheel. “I’m afraid I’ve not shown you enough gratitude for what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything. And you’re taking me back home. That’s enough.”

“We have to stick together, men like us.”

“We are together now. It’s nice. It had always been difficult for me to find a man like us. To talk as we do now.”

“We are silent,” Richard cajoled thinking of ways to get more information from and about Barrow.

“Silence has its charm. Fewer opportunities to shove your foot in your mouth that way. It took me a very long time to reach where I am today. People I used to talk were nothing like me. Talking was difficult.”

“It’s not difficult now.”

“You can’t begin to understand how very difficult it is for me.”

“Why? I’m an easy-going person.”

“You are. And it is nice. It... feels good.”

“Stop for a bit,” Barrow said after a while and when Richard turned the engine off, he got out of the car, walking towards a clearing 

Richard watched transfixed Barrow walking in the clearing, the moonlight reflecting on his pale skin. "Are you coming here often then?"

"I used to. Walk and smoke on my lonesome, in the nights with a moon, when I could see the stars in the sky and think of the future. Nonsense of the young."

Barrow gazed up at the sky and Richard couldn't take his eyes off him. "You are still young." Even if tired. 

_"I'll always be young."_

Richard didn't hear Barrow's words clearly. "What?"

Barrow didn't listen to him, or he refused to reply. "There's a little creek down the clearing. The stars reflect on the water. Do you want to see it?" The exuberance in his voice led Richard to shove the nervousness aside to keep company to an illogical fear of being played by the other man and followed Barrow in his destination. 

Richard found Barrow standing in the shore staring down the dark waters, the custom cigarette in his fingers. Richard hadn't seen the other man smoking or even lighting a cigarette, but the thing was always there inside the long fingers. 

"When are you leaving?" Richard was asked suddenly.

"The day after tomorrow."

"I thought it was tomorrow," Barrow had turned around his expression unreadable. 

"No. It was always the day after tomorrow."

Barrow sighed warily. "I guess it has to be different."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just pondering on how different things could be. I came to Downton when I was only a boy and stayed here for the rest of my life with a break during the war."

"You were a soldier."

"Weren't we all? I was a medic. Euphemism for carrying the injured and the dead. Was two years in the trenches."

"You have seen a lot."

"Yes, a lot of horror."

Barrow raised his right hand and pointed to the left. "There! That tree. When I had half a day off as a hall boy, I'd take a book from the library and run here to read it," a smile formed in the pale lips. Richard imagined them red and wet after a kiss, roughened by Barrow's partner's stubble. He passed his fingers through his own jaw. 

  
_What was he doing here? With this strange man?_

Barrow turned around and came to stand next to him. "I think it's time you return to the Abbey. If you follow that road, it will take you to the car. Drive up and you'll be in Downton in ten minutes." Their shoulders touched and both men gasped at the contact. Barrow looked between them as if he had seen a dolphin on land.

"Where will you go?" Richard turned to him, the familiar by now smell assaulting his senses, an illusion of aromatic burning smoke that had nothing to do with the cigarette that was still burning. 

"I'll walk a bit more and then..." he looked around looking small and lost. "To get some rest." The sense of being mocked was back, but the man seemed sincere. The glove in his pocket was a weight he hadn't felt all evening. 

"Do you want to drive you home?" Too eager not to lose a moment between them Richard expected a positive answer. Especially considering the whole trip in the woods wasn't a trap to get mugged by Barrow's friends. 

Instead he got a negative shake of the head. "Thank you, but no. This is where I needed you to bring me."

Richard wasn't ready to say goodnight. He reached down and found Barrow's hand. He wrapped his fingers around the wrist on top of two layers of clothes, a gasp escaping from the other man whose eyes locked on the place they were united. "How?" He asked but didn't elaborate what he was asking about. 

Richard pulled the other man close bringing their lips together. He leaned back to stare at the dark eyes, marveling at the ethereal quality of the other man. He looked as if was made of light and smoke and flesh thrown in just for appearance sake. The surprise was a look that fitted him.

Barrow's left hand reached up to cup Richard's cheek, a hair separating the two, reaching but not really touching. A soft smile transformed his face making it even more appealing. "You have to go." Richard wasn't certain if the wetness in the grey eyes was a reflection and illusion or reality. "Go! I'll see you tomorrow." He shoved him gently towards the place they had left the car. He grabbed Richard's hand and gripped it tightly, squeezing and letting it go, and again. 

"Are you testing your strength?" Richard said with a laughter. 

"Kind of." He started walking pulling Richard with him. "Come on, I'll escort you to the car."

They reached the car and Richard embraced Barrow. "One, I still don't know your Christian name."

"I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Two. What is this smell?"

"What smell?"

Richard leaned to his neck, nudging the sensitive skin with his nose, craving to remove the coats’ lapels and kiss it. "It's soap and something else. Heavier. Smoky."

  
"Incense."

"What?"

"The last time I wore this suit I went to a funeral."

"I'm sorry. Anyone close?"

Barrow looked up at the sky again. "You could say that."

“I’m leaving then…” He wanted to be held back, and keep on talking about Barrow’s past, his plans for the future. He followed Barrow’s advice and with a last glance on Barrow from the window he drove towards Downton Abbey.

The heaviness returned. He was still in a strange place following the Royal couple around the world and while he was envied by many, the loneliness was suffocating. Closing the door behind him, he almost wished for last night’s presence to keep him company. 

He took the glove from his pocket and brought it to his nose. 

_Thomas._

_Incense._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I know I said there will be only 2 chapters, but I was wrong.  
> So, I go with three now!


	3. We Live Again

He didn't sleep well that night. Strange dreams fell upon his tired mind like rain dust making rest impossible to achieve. Mist and fog and heartbreaking loss dominated the night visions. 

An injured hand, red water, and bloody wrists; grey eyes and rosy lips. 

Richard drew himself up on the bed, his covers pooled around his waist. "Just a dream," he whispered reassuring himself. The words of his Granny came to his mind. "Dreams is where our loved ones go when we lose them." She could explain the dreams. People thought his Nana queer, but in times of need they visited her asking for advice. 

He got out of bed early in the morning, just as the sun made its first appearance behind the dark clouds. He thought of the rain two nights ago and for a moment he pondered what weather he'd like to have for his journey. 

He didn't wish for a sunny day. The weather should fit his mood. A large storm was brewing inside his mind. 

He found himself walking around the Abbey thinking the previous evening. He shoved his hands in his pockets only to find Thomas' glove. He remembered seeing it on top of the bedside table but didn't recall taking it with him. Even as he looked at it, he wondered how he was going to see Barrow again. He heard someone coming out the servants' entrance and he came face to face with Ms. Baxter. He tipped his hat. She returned the greeting with a half-formed smile and stood by him for a while having a small chat.

"You had an early morning, Mr. Ellis."

"It happens." His head throbbed with thoughts of the previous night.

"So happy for leaving us?"

"Not really." Richard didn't know what he felt so he couldn't explain it to her. He shrugged. "Too tired of the road, I think. More than anything."

"You'll have to excuse me. I need to run an errant and be back in an hour to attend to her Ladyship."

Richard was tempted to let her leave. "Need some help?" What errand this early in the morning?

She looked down. "Wanted to go to Thomas, his grave, I mean."

_Thomas._

This was his chance to learn more about Thomas.

"Would you mind me escorting you?"

She looked around. "Don't you have anything else to do?"

Richard considered her reaction and wondered if his proposition was inappropriate. He rarely gave any thought in escorting women, but not all women knew they were safe with him. And this was a rather small place where people talked. He didn't want to jeopardise her reputation. "If you don't want any company..."

"No, no, if it pleases you."

They walked towards the cemetery, Richard keeping a decent distance between himself and Ms. Baxter and she seemed to appreciate his effort. "Can you tell me about him?"

"Thomas?" She seemed surprised he wanted to learn about a man who was dead for years. Richard was used to his own morbid curiosity.

"Yes. I don't know..." why he was so interested in him

Her smile was sad. "Thomas worked here since before the war. I think he came in 1910. He then left to war where he got his hand injury."

_Hand injury._

"Thus, the glove?"

"Yes. Footmen reflect the house and the must present themselves perfectly. Thomas did."

"He was handsome?" Richard bit his lips. He often let his tongue get the best of him and asking about another man’s looks was not something normal men did about other men was it? 

She thankfully didn’t care. "I think he was," there was the sad smile again. "Really handsome. I couldn't be unbiased about it though. I knew him since he was born."

"You didn't meet him here?"

"No. He was the reason I got this job. He knew I needed it and when her Ladyship's previous maid left, he thought about me." There was more, Richard was certain, but he didn't want to pry. 

"How old was he?"

She thought about it. "I was around ten when he was born, I was friends with his sister. So, he was about thirty-three when he... died. Two years ago."

Richard hadn't noticed they had reached the cemetery until he came face to face with stones and large crosses. He followed Ms. Baxter to the grave she wanted to visit. "Hello, Thomas," she heard her saying.

He turned to the grave.

_Thomas Barrow_  
_not forgotten_

His eyes stayed on the name; a shiver ran through his body. Thomas Barrow.

_Thomas_

_Barrow_

The trembling was back. The cold seeping through his clothes he became well acquainted with in Downton was back. Certainly, two people could have the same name. "Did he have a brother?"

"Thomas? No. Just one sister."

It doesn't mean anything.

_Fog and mist._

"Is there anyone else with the same last name leaving around here? Used to work in Downton?"

"Barrow? No, not as far as I know."

_Heartbreaking loss._

Richard felt a pounding inside his chest. Was he taken for a fool?

He reached inside his pocket and closed his fingers around the glove. "Thirty-three is young. Was he ill?"

She leaned down on the wet ground, leaving the flowers she had been carrying with her on top or the grey marble. Richard watched, thoughts and mind blank. "He wasn't ill, Mr. Ellis. Thomas took his own life."

_Red water._

"He cut his wrists." It was a statement, not a question. Ms. Baxter gazed at him questioningly but nodded.

_Bloody wrists._  
_Mist and fog._

  
_Thomas Barrow_

His attraction to Barrow was a nail against his chest as his anger threatened to take over every other emotion, even the sadness he felt for a man he had never met. Using a dead man's name to play games with Richard turned his stomach. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said eventually.

She stood and she shook the dust from her coat. "I sometimes feel I could have saved him. That it was my job to save him. And I failed my destiny. I'm here and he's not." 

Richard takes her hand in his. "I'm sure he doesn't see it. He wouldn't see it that way."

"You didn't know Thomas, Mr. Ellis."

He didn't know what prompted him to ask. "How many people actually knew him?"

Her gaze returned on the tomb. "Not many."

She stood and he realised she was ready to go. He followed Ms. Baxter in a respectful distance once again, his chaotic thoughts trying to break his composure. 

On the way back, they were quiet. A sad quietness enveloped them during their return to Downton an uncomfortable experience for both of them. It was a quietness that was suddenly broken by Richard. “What did he look like?”

The question brought Ms. Baxter out of her reverie. “Thomas?”

He wasn’t looking at her, but somewhere at the distance, and nodded sullenly. 

“He was about as tall as you, Mr. Ellis. He was handsome, elegant. Even in our job, I haven’t seen many men as graceful as Thomas was. He was lean but sturdy. It was only towards the end that he took in standing in the corner, unnoticed, getting thinner. No one really saw. He was eloquent, witty, you didn’t want to be insulted by Thomas, but most probably you wouldn’t understand he was insulting you if it was not obvious on his face. He had an expressive face that showed his emotions clearly. It’s sad that most of us didn’t look at it.”

Her words weren’t helpful. Richard didn’t know what he expected to listen. Tall, dark haired and grey eyed? 

_And then what?_

“His hair was dark, almost black, he was pale with blue eyes. Red lips. Always smoking.” She lowered her voice and added, “You’d think I was in love with him,” she blushed and looked the other way to hide an embarrassed smile. “But you have to understand, I was there when he was born, and he was such a small baby. And he grew up to a big man. But he was like the baby brother I never had. And I let him down.” 

He was hungry to learn more. Her description of Thomas Barrow though stopped him from asking anything more. Soon they were entering the Abbey’s gates and Ms. Baxter thanked him for accompanying her. “I usually go alone unless Mrs. Hughes or Anna has some time to spare. Talking about Thomas helped too. Thank you Mr. Ellis.” She took his hand in hers in a tight grip before she took off for the servants’ entrance.

Richard strolled around for a while and by the time he got back, it was time for breakfast, but he declined politely and took the steps two at the time to get to his room with the excuse of checking if everything was prepared. 

A man was sitting on the bed he had slept the last two days, looking down. He was dressed in woolen trousers, and his shirt sleeves rolled up.

"What are you doing here?" 

The man looked up, fringe falling over his forehead, grey eyes staring at Richard.

Just like they had done the night before. 

Richard felt bile coming up his throat when he thought the man was beautiful. 

After everything, he thought the man beautiful.

"Barrow. That’s not your name, is it? What is your name?" The anger had risen in the surface, a tide moments before it flows over.

“Barrow.”

“Stop lying. Was everything you said a lie?” Richard leaned against the door, fists against his thighs. “Get out of this room. You can return when I leave. And lie to someone else.” He advanced towards the seated man to force him to get out.

"When I opened my eyes after I thought I'd never do that again, it was to your Nana Bitty calling me a silly boy."

At the mention of his grandmother’s name, Richard took a few steps back and collided with the door. “Who put you into it?”  
  
Despite having grown up with his Granny and people coming from all over England to talk to their loved ones, to their dead loved ones, after her death he never thought about it again. His mind, his very rational mind rebelled against the idea he was talking with a dead man.  
  
The man who was looking down at his hands.   
  
Richard torn between anger and disbelief stepped closer to Barrow. “What’s your name?”  
  
Dull grey eyes looked up, staring right through him and instead of the cold sensation he was accustomed by now in the room, warmth enveloped Richard. “I think you know by now. But if I have to say it, my name is Thomas Barrow.”  
  
Richard stepped to him and collapsed on the bed, on the other side of them man and looked at him carefully. He had to believe him, didn’t he? Even if it meant being taken for a fool. “You are somewhat like Ms. Baxter described Thomas.”  
  
Barrow smiled. “You were talking about me with Phyllis, Mr. Ellis?”   
  
“She loved you. She still loves you.” This feeling. The feeling of the absurd he couldn’t describe. Was he really going to believe this was the ghost of a dead man? What if it was a prank from as a payback from the people in this house? From everything that had happened between the Downton stuff and the Royal stuff, he could easily believe this was a prank.   
  
Thomas… Barrow or whatever his name really was looking at him. “What can I do to make you believe?”  
  
“Some cheap trick? You know, I get it why you all felt attacked by us, but I didn’t do anything to deserve being played like this.”  
  
And suddenly he was alone in the room.   
  
He stood and looked around. The man had disappeared right in front of him. Richard had read about Houdini and his escape acts, but he doubted he had seen something like that. He swallowed hard and there was the cold he had been missing. A chill ran down his spine. A draft against his jacket trying to find its way underneath his clothes.   
  
“That’s not me, in case you wonder.” He turned around and there he was, leaning against the door. “Well, it _is_ me, but I don’t do it on purpose. It just happens.”  
  
“The cold?”  
  
“Cold, warm, strange feeling of being watched…” his eyes sparkled for the first time. “Everything out of normal you’ve been feeling here. That’s all me. But I don’t do it on purpose. It happens because of me.”   
  
“You’re serious.”  
  
“My whole life I’ve been missing something. When I died,” and here he looks at Richard apologetically. “Well, let’s just say that the feeling doesn’t go away. They have it right there.”  
  
“They?”  
  
“You were more talkative yesterday, Mr. Ellis.”  
  
“You weren’t dead yesterday, Mr. Barrow.”  
  
“Well, actually…”  
  
“Stop!”  
  
“Alright, I’m sorry.” And there was the cigarette between his fingers again.  
  
“Do you even smoke?”  
  
“No. It just appears every time I feel… anything.”  
  
“And what do you feel now?”  
  
“Stressed. In a hurry. You’re leaving soon, and this is the only place I could meet you.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Rules. That’s what your Nana said.”  
  
Richard sat on the bed again. “You are dead,” he reasoned dejectedly. Thomas sat right next to him resting his hand on top of Richard’s.

“I’m sorry.”  
  
“What for?”  
  
“Apparently, I was supposed to wait for you. I was supposed to be saved.”  
  
“Why?” Richard looked over at Thomas’ left hand resting on the duvet. A glove, similar, if not identical, to the one inside his pocket enveloped the half of it. Thomas followed his gaze. He raised his hand bringing it closer to Richard to inspect it.   
  
“I know many things, but they are vague about why.”  
  
Richard took Thomas’ hand in his own and removed the glove to see an old wound. “I can touch you.”  
  
“Which is surprising, I think. I mean I wouldn’t know… but I haven’t felt a touch since my death.”

“Stop saying that.”  
  
“I am dead Mr. Ellis.”  
  
“Richard.”  
  
“Richard,” Thomas repeated.  
  
“Thomas.”  
  
“That’s my name. Yes. I am not usually drifting around the hostile walls of the Abbey. It’s just a state, I’m not sure I can explain it to a living person, of being. Just there.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
He shrugged. “No idea. Everywhere. Nowhere. Peaceful. Lonely, missing something, someone. You. I don’t know.”  
  
“I kissed you yesterday.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Were you…” Richard didn’t know how to say it.  
  
“No, I became this foul pervert after my death,” Thomas said laughing.  
  
“How can you laugh?”  
  
Thomas reached over and pushed Richard's hair from his forehead gently. “I’m trying to remember the last time I touched a man before my death and it’s all blurry. It was a long, long time ago. And now I have this. I could have had this alive. I have to laugh, Richard. Or I’ll cry. And I’m not sure I can cry. Do they call you Dick?”  
  
“No, do you want to call me Dick?”  
  
“Are you?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Dick?”  
  
And Richard laughed with him. And he leaned forward and put his arms around Thomas and rested his head on the man’s shoulder. “Incense.”  
  
“Yes, sorry, my funeral. I don’t know why it stuck. Or even if it’s just your senses playing tricks with you.”  
  
“Shut up and hug me.”  
  
And Thomas did.   
  
_He wasn’t warm._  
_Or cold._  
_He just was._  
  
“Now what?” He whispered against the styled hair.  
  
“You leave, I leave, and you go on living.”  
  
“How?”  
  
Thomas leaned back and turned his hand up. He unbuttoned the shirtsleeve and Richard saw the knife would, still red against the pale skin, still open. No blood coming out of it. His hand moved forward to touch and stopped a hair breath away from it. “I saw a dream.”  
  
“I know. I’m sorry. Being here the first night brought my memories back and connected as we are, it bled through to your mind.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
Thomas’ hands cupped Richard’s face lifting it to stare at each other. Richard closed his eyes, the heaviness on his chest stronger than ever. “You still don’t get it.” Thomas’ voice was filled with sorrow.   
  
Richard didn’t like it. “Get what?”  
  
Lips touched his own.   
  
Hands threaded through his hair.   
  
Chests moved closer, one heart beating, the other wasn’t.   
  
  
Richard clutched Thomas’ shirt and took control of the kiss, so different than all the other kisses he had shared. He didn’t know how long he was there, kissing Thomas’ lips, cheekbones, jaw and every part of the face he could reach. Wetness fell down his cheeks and Thomas had to brush it away to realise he was crying. “I’m sorry,” Thomas said again, against his mouth.  
  
A knock on the door. “Mr. Ellis, are you ready? You are leaving!”  
  
“It’s Andy.” Thomas stood only to kneel and remove a plank from the floor.  
  
“Thank you. I’ll be over in…” Richard stopped not knowing when he’d be down, when he’d be ready to leave and not see Thomas again.  
  
How had they come to this?  
  
Thomas stood holding a book or a journal with him. He gave it to Richard. “Here. This is mine. Everything you want to know about me, it’s in here.”  
  
Richard took it and his first thought was to bring it close to his nose, to see if he could catch Thomas’ scent, even as he was hearing Thomas rummaging in the drawer. Thomas stood again and when he turned to Richard he had the watch in his hand. “I want you to have this too.” He pushed it on Richard’s hand.   
  
Richard looked down on it and, leaving the journal on top of his valise he searched in his pocket for a key ring. He hooked the watch to the key ring and placed it on his palm. “Thank you,” he said to Thomas who was looking down on his own hand.   
  
Where, he was having the same watch hooked to Richard’s key ring. “How?”  
  
“Just another mystery.”  
  
Richard swooped forward for one last kiss.  
  
“Mr. Ellis, you must come.” Carson’s voice interrupted them. Richard had to go.   
  
He took Thomas’ journal and his valise, and with a last peck on the pale lips he opened the door. “Goodbye, Mr. Barrow.”  
  
“This time, I will wait for you, Mr. Ellis.”   
  
Richard turned to see Thomas for one last time, only to find an empty room.  
  
Hanging onto the journal to his chest, he left the life he was supposed to have behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to finish and post this tonight.  
> But, if wanted, there might be an epilogue in the close future.  
> Chapter titles taken by Brett Anderson's [Funeral Mantra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EyVm4W6Xioo)


End file.
